The Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing
Once upon a time there was a girl, born to be soft but forced to be feral.
She grew up, as we all do, and time had hardened her. The armor she wore was never meant for her but life insisted she needed protection.
One day, she met a man. He bombed her with love—bursts of devotion, promises wrapped in urgency—slowly chipping away at the walls she had built until she stood stripped bare, like a war-torn city mistaking quiet for peace.
She felt naked. Exposed. And, at first, protected by this metaphorical prince.
As days turned into years, she softened. She set the armor down piece by piece, believing she was finally free from its weight.
Slowly, she realized he wasn’t a man at all, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing—promising softness, yet preying on her kindness.
Looking back, she hears the howl differently.
Funny how we call them wolves but wolves aren’t weak. Wolves protect their pack. Wolves aren’t cruel—they’re loyal.
He was never the wolf.
She was.
And when she bared her teeth, the sheep ran.
